


Could I Be Read if I Was See-Through?

by Alcoholic_kangaroo



Series: Small Town Boy, Going Everywhere [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 01:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_kangaroo
Summary: Eleven goes to watch Mike one evening and finds he's not alone.Warning: Set between season 1 and 2 so this is very underage smut. Don't like, don't read.





	Could I Be Read if I Was See-Through?

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of just adding a chapter to 'Til the Radio Plays but decided maybe some people didn't feel like reading about incest first so I'm gonna separate the parts.

It isn't uncommon for Eleven to find that Mike is not alone. When he isn't alone, more often than not, he is with his friends.. Their friends. Because even if she cannot be with them right now they are still her friends. All of them. Even Lucas, who was mean to her. Even Will, who she spent so little time with but feels so close to.

But sometimes he's with his family instead and she has much less exposure with them. She's started to feel like she knows them more, from the watching, and they seem nice enough. Mike's mother brushes his curls from his forehead when she kisses him goodnight and his father sometimes slips him pieces of candy he's hidden in his pocket when Mike's mother isn't looking. Even Nancy seems nice enough, despite the insults they hurl at each other. She feels like she would like Nancy a lot if they were able to spend more time together.

Still, she prefers when he is alone. She likes to watch him when he thinks nobody can see him. There's something softer about him then. The angles of his shoulders droop and his smile melts away. Not in an unhappy way but in a way that seems more natural, more instinctual. In a way that lacks any self consciousness or force. When his smile is gone and the curve of his mouth has straightened, he looks like he never experienced any of the horrors of the world. He looks at peace.

She does not need the radio to locate him. She never needs that for anybody in this world. She enjoys listening to him talk into the device, knowing he misses her and wants her. But she doesn't need it to find him. She thinks if she lost that ability, her ability to locate faces, she would still be able to find Mike no matter where he may be in the world. She would be able to close her eyes and walk, and walk, and walk, and eventually she'd just bump into him. Eleven doesn't know why she thinks this, knows this, but it seems true.

Mike always tries to contact her from within the blanket fort. This is as pointless as the radio but emotionally touching nonetheless. She wishes she could tell him that the symbolism is not lost on her, but he cannot know of her presence. So she watches, silently, coming close but lacking the ability to touch him. And oh does she want to touch him. Especially his hair. When he looks up from beneath the dark curls and a few of them fall over his eyes – she feels like she barely has the self control to keep herself from brushing them from his forehead.

Her policy is not to seek him out after a certain time of night, a time that is usually later on the weekend but less reliably so. Namely, she tries not to disturb, or actually not disturb, him when he should be in bed. Not unless it is very, very late, and he should already be asleep, because then it's safe. She enjoys watching him sleep. She enjoys his relaxed, slightly parted lips as he breathes against the white expanse of his pillow. She likes how the light on the wall, a nightlight the television commercials call them, glows blue on his face and accentuates the outline of his freckles against the paleness of his skin. She loves watching him when he sleeps because she can truly inspect him then. He is still and silent and study-able.

Not that she doesn't enjoy watching what else he does in bed late at night, but she recognizes it as the intrusion of privacy it is. Mike would not be happy to know she was watching him doing those things beneath the covers when he was alone. The first time she caught him doing it she hadn't been totally ignorant to the action itself but it had still been shocking. It was something in books, on television, in magazines, but it had seemed something remote, almost make believe. Like swimming in the ocean or riding an elephant. She knew people did these things but those aren't part of her life. She knew Mike was a boy but she didn't really think he had...those parts.

She's intrigued by the idea in a way she cannot understand, but after the first time she stopped watching. He had mostly been hidden that day anyway, everything frightening and male beneath his quilt, and she had concentrated more on his face than what was going on below. The way his eyebrows had furrowed and he had squeezed his eyes shut. The way his breathing had come out in fast, ragged puffs of air. The noises he had made, just the slightest little murmurs. For some reason she had found herself wanting to see what was going on beneath that blanket.

She has seen it since. Not for extended periods of time. She's seen it now and she doesn't let herself watch anymore because she can't tell herself its in the name of knowledge. And Mike's faces are much more interesting than what he's doing with his hands anyway.

It's a tricky thing, to figure out the time between his friends leaving and Mike going to bed. But she's had many days of practice and is getting good at it now. Today is a Friday, which means he will go to sleep later than usual. It also means he may be staying at a friend's house or a friend, or several of them, may be staying at his. Usually, however, he stays home on Friday nights; Saturday nights are the usual sleepover nights. So when she locates him tonight she is not surprised to find him in the blanket fort.

Except, apparently, this Friday is a sleepover night.

He is not alone.

Irrationally, Eleven feels a surge of anger course through her body. Anger so biting and concentrated that if it were to last for long she would surely find herself shattering windows.

But no, this is not anger, jealousy. They're very similar emotions. Or maybe it's both. Eleven is not used to jealousy. Jealousy is something the women on the television shows have. The ones that date strange men with long hair and their shorter haired twins. And then those women can't even tell who the father of their baby is because they have the same DNA. But it doesn't matter anyway because both men are in love with her younger, prettier sister, and were just using her to get to her sister so she has her step brother, who's also in love with her, cut their brake-lines because if she can't have them then nobody should

That's what jealousy is to her.

Maybe jealous doesn't always have to result in murder, or the wish for murder. But for a moment she wouldn't mind maybe breaking a limb or two.

What she sees is Mike, her Mike, stroking the hair of another girl. Inside their fort, her fort. He's not just touching another girl but in this place, the place that was supposed to be special to them. How dare he bring another girl to her spot? And who even is this girl? When did he become close enough to some strange girl to be comfortable enough with her to touch her hair like this?

It's only a couple of seconds of intense emotions, this newfound jealous. But it's a shameful couple of seconds she wishes she had the ability to undo. She has no claim over Mike, he is not an object to be owned. She's not pregnant with his baby and she doesn't have to marry him to fulfill her father's wishes so as to inherit his fortune.

Still, she feels relief when she realizes Mike's long, pale fingers are not threading their way through a girl's bobbed brown hair. They're threading their way through a boy's silky mane. A boy she should have recognized sooner, considering how focused everybody had been on him half a year ago. But his face is turned away from her and there is an almost girlish quality to the back of his neck.

Mike's eyes are not turned to her and it makes it easier to intrude on this moment, which really does feel like too intimate a moment to normally intrude upon. When he's looking towards her, unknowingly so, it makes her feel uncomfortable at times. There's something wrong about secretly watching somebody at their most vulnerable. Somehow, she knows Mike would not be angry with her if he knew. Even about the time she saw him doing that in bed, or the numerous times she stumbled upon such similar scenes afterwards. He would understand. Of course he would understand. She doesn't watch him to hurt him. She watches him because she misses him more than she's missed anything in existence.

She longs to go to him. She wishes to be here with him for real, not in this secret, unsubstantial way. Sometimes, she thinks watching him is worse than living in a void without his presence entirely. At least she wouldn't have to listen to his pleas for her to respond. She wouldn't have to see the tears in his eyes on nights when he is overtired and over-stressed. She wouldn't have to see the red, painful looking rims of his eyelid.

It's easier when his eyes aren't turned towards her. It's easier when his eyes are happy.

Like tonight. There's a turn to the corner of his eyes as he smiles and it makes him beautiful in a ways she didn't realize humans can be beautiful. Like the stars and moon themselves are hidden behind those smiling eyes. As if the glimmer within them comes not from the lamp nearby but by something internal and natural.

It's okay that he's not smiling for her. It's okay he's smiling for Will. She knows he loves Will. She has always known that. She knows he loved Will before he loved her. She knows it is a different kind of love.

But in some ways, it is the same kind of love.

She has watched them all together many times. He loves Dustin and Lucas in a third kind of way. And he loves his family in a fourth, or maybe fourth and fifth, because the way he insults his sister is a strange kind of love. But the way he loves Will is the closest to the way he loves her.

It took her a long time to recognize why the way he treated Will was so close to the way he treated her and one word was left stuck in her mind: protective. It hadn't come to her immediately, not until she had caught the description on a nature documentary, but it was the perfect word to use. Mike was protective of them both. When he was with either of them, herself or Will, he seemed to want nothing more than to keep them both safe.

Which is ridiculous, Eleven doesn't need to be kept safe. Will, well, he might need a little more protection than her. But he is strong. He survived the Upside Down. He never would have come out alive if he had been as weak as Mike thinks he is.

But the other boy is also weaker than he perceives himself. What is it about him that insists he has to hide his fear in front of the others? Surely they would understand if he shared with them his worries? Surely they wouldn't judge him for needing a little extra attention?

When they're all together, Will keeps his distance. She noticed the subtle discomfort in him from the beginning. The way he puts just a little too much space between himself and the others. But when it's just Mike and Will it's different. When it's just them, they're like this.

There's a pillow behind Mike's back and he's leaning against it, his eyes turned down. Not looking at her. Not looking at Will. Looking at a book. His beautiful, kind, loving eyes with the stars inside them, are trained on the pages as if transfixed by the words he's reading aloud.

Will is laying on the floor, inside her blanket fort, but that's okay because she likes Will. He's lying with his head on Mike's knee, one of his hands beside his cheek and the other resting on Mike's thigh. He's using Mike as a pillow, her Mike, but that's okay as well. She can't see his face from here, not fully, but she can see his eyes are closed. The shadow of his eyelashes lay against his cheek. Every so often they flutter lightly, she can tell his eyes are moving beneath the lids. He appears as if he's faking sleep.

But he's not asleep and Mike must realize this as well since he continues to read out loud.

“'Fear now filled all Frodo's mind. He thought no longer of his sword. No cry came from him. He shut his eyes and clung to the horse's mane. The wind whistled in his ears, and the bulls upon the harness rang wild and shrill. A breath of deadly cold pierced him like a spear, as with a last spurt, like a flash of white fire, the elf-horse speeding as if on wings, passed right before the face of the foremost Rider.' Will? Are you okay? You're shaking.”

He is shaking. Eleven is surprised with herself for not noticing the small but persistent tremor. She is usually very good at noticing small details. Perceptive. That's it, the word is perceptive. She's perceptive. Normally she is, anyway.

But he isn't shaking very much. Mike can probably feel the movement more than visibly observe it. Will doesn't open his eyes, but he presses his nose harder into Mike's leg and curls his body closer.

“Just cold,” he says, but he's clearly lying. His voice is tight. Still, Mike doesn't press him. Instead, he reaches across the boy for a blanket and pulls it up around his shoulders. Will thanks him but the shivering has already ceased. Mike's hand had touched Will's face as he drew it away from the blanket. It's a light touch, a quick touch, but it had caused Will to instantly still.

“How about we stop here for now?” Mike suggests. “I'm getting tired.”

“If you want,” Will says, his voice muffled against Mike's leg. He sounds relieved to cut the story short. Eleven wonders if that means they will go to bed now. Surely, Will is sleeping over if he's over this late. He doesn't sleep over very often. Hardly ever, actually. His brother is usually hovering around by the time she visits Mike, waiting for him with an oddly possessive stare. Sometimes his eyes seem to narrow as he looks at Mike. Eleven has a feeling the brother doesn't like Mike, for some reason.

They don't get up. They don't vacate the blanket fort or start to get ready for bed. Mike leans back further into his pillow, no longing hunching over to read the book in his lap. His shoulders drop as he relaxes and he sets the book aside.

He's still touching Will's hair. But whereas his earlier strokes had been superficial, touching mostly the top of Will's hair than anything else, now he's more thorough. His finger spread out and dig into Will's tousled locks, his nails scraping lightly over his scalp. He places his other hand, the one that is now free since he's no longer holding the book, over the hand near Will's cheek. Will responds by spreading the fingers on his hand and lacing them with Mike's. Will's fingers look small besides Mike's. Eleven reaches out, carefully, and lays her own hand over their clasped fingers. Her fingers are longer Will's as well, but smaller than Mike's. And not as slim. Mike has beautiful hands, but Will's are pretty in a fragile, delicate way. She'd be afraid to hold him too tightly, they might snap like twigs.

“Your hair feels really soft today.”

Mike's voice startles her as he seems to be speaking into her suddenly. She angles her gaze upwards and realizes how close she is to him, them, now. Close enough now to see the pale freckles on Mike's face. She wants to touch them, one at a time, and count them. How many freckles are on his nose alone? On his entire body? Could she connect them with ink and spell out words on his skin? She misses Will's response to Mike's observations.

“You having nightmares again?” Mike asks. Eleven almost confirms this question aloud, almost forgetting that Mike isn't asking about her own nightmares. He can't see her. Will must be having nightmares as well because he's asking Will..

“Sometimes,” the smaller boy confesses. He's looking down at where he's still holding Mike's hand. Is he as entranced by the image as well? At the contrast in size and color? “Jonathan used to let me get in bed with him when I had them but he started locking his door at night.”

“I'd never lock my door,” Mike says solemnly. Eleven holds back a snort of laughter. It's sort of a stupid statement. Did he expect Will to run across town to get into his bed at night? That wouldn't help his nightmares. Sometimes, Mike has the ability to make ridiculous statements sounds poetic. But sometimes they just sound ridiculous.

Will smiles nevertheless and nuzzles closer to Mike. Closer. He pushes back with his knees so he's half in Mike's lap. It's cute, he's acting like a beloved pet. Like that tabby cat Hopper brought home to the cabin for those two days, before realizing Eleven was apparently allergic to cats. It wasn't the cats fault it made her sneeze, she liked the cat. She'd named it Michael. Hopper says they might get a dog some day but not yet because a dog can't live in a small cabin like a cat could.

“Will,” Mike's voice sounds uncomfortable. It's sudden and such a juxtaposition that Eleven's curiosity is piqued. Eleven pulls back from Mike's face, she had been so close he would have been able to smell dinner still on her breath if she had actually been there, and looks down at Will. He's untying the drawstring on Mike's pajama bottoms. How odd. “Will, I don't think-”

“You don't need to do anything back,” Will pleads. His voice sounds desperate but he stops toying with the string. Those slim, breakable fingers are shaking. “Please, Mike, I want to do it for you.”

Mike sighs. It's long and drawn out. If Eleven had been substantial his breath would have ruffled her hair. It goes right through her instead.

“Will, come here,” Mike says, but his voice sounds very, very tired now. It's not that late and he didn't sound so exhausted when he was reading. Eleven furrows her eyebrows in concern. He should go to bed. He's cute when he's tired, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, but she doesn't want him to become sick. He has to stay healthy so when they're back together they can find stuff to do together. He can't show her around if he's sick in bed.

The hand releases Will's hair and extends forward to embrace the other boy. Eleven thinks they're going to hug but it's not quite a hug. Will's arms go under Mike's, up around him, his fingers digging into Mike's shoulders. Mike turns his head and Eleven watches in fascination as his lips touch Will's throat. Is he going to bite Will like a vampire in one of those black and white movies that are on late at night?

No, he's not biting him. Well, he is, lightly and intermittently, but mostly he's sucking as his skin. Kind of like she does when Hopper brings her suckers. The kind with the gum, not the gooey brown filling. She doesn't like that kind so he doesn't bring her anymore. She catches small flashes of even, white teeth against Will's skin and red lips. He's darker in complexion than Mike. They look good together, the different tones accentuated against each other. Mike is all about extremes. Black hair, white skin. Sharp features and soft skin. Thin but tall. Will seems more coherent in his make. Everything about him comes in warm shades of brown and cream and he's small and soft everywhere.

A small noise comes from Will, something between a sigh and a sob. Eleven tilts her head to see if Mike has bitten him too hard but he doesn't seem to be in pain.

“Be quiet,” Mike hisses, his lips brushing against Will's pink skin. “Do you want my parents to hear you?”

“Sorry,” Will whispers back, shakily. Something about his voice makes Eleven feel odd inside.

She recognizes that what they're doing is sexual, or at least semi-erotic, but she didn't know such a thing was possible between two boys. They never show such things on television or in magazines. If it is sexual does that mean boys can like other boys like they like girls? Can Mike like Will like he likes her?

Will's hand has moved back between Mike's legs and she feels sorry for Will because he can't see what's down there. She feels sorrier for herself because she can't feel it. Now it's Mike turn to be noisy but he doesn't sound like he's crying like Will had. He sounds tired out, like he's been running. He breathes heavily through his nose but he doesn't take his mouth from Will's skin. Not for long, anyway. Will tilts his head back as Mike latches onto the soft skin along the underside of his jaw. There's a bruise where he had previously been, and she swears she sees the faint outline of teeth marks.

“Mike, please,” Will begs again. His hand is squeezing the thing down there and it's bigger than it was a minute ago. “ Let me do it.”

“You know how that makes me feel,” Mike responds. He's pulling back now and he looks uncomfortable, his lips drawn thin. He glances down at his own lap and sees where Will is holding that part down there in his hand. “That's not just fooling around.”

“I want to do it,” Will insists. He removes his hand from Mike and that thing down there bounces lightly. Eleven watches it, entranced. She's never seen it like this, out in the open. Not when it was big like this, only when she's caught him peeing or in the bath, and even then it's usually concealed within a nest of hair. In his bedroom he hides beneath his covers.

“I know you do,” Mike says, but he frowns. He tugs at his pajama shirt to try to cover the thing between his legs but it pops back out from beneath the cloth. It looks dark against the skin of his lower belly. Another contrast. The top of it is red like his lips. Something about the fact is enticing to Eleven. Why are they both red? “Will, you're not like me, are you?”

Eleven glances at Will once more to see his reaction. His pupils seem darker than usual as he settles back onto his thighs, his face is red. Like Mike's lip, like Mike's thing down here. Also, like Eleven, he is staring down between Mike's thighs as if he can't tear his gaze away. She's confused, is his different so than Mike's? Why is he staring at it? Is there something wrong with it? She's fascinated by it because she hasn't seen any this close up. They can't be that different though, can they? “What do you mean not like you?”

“You don't think of girls when you're alone, do you?” Mike asks. His voice is coaxing, warm, but questioning. He tugs at his shirt again, then leaves his hand covering his crotch. Her view is blocked. Eleven feels disappointed. She licks her lips. “This isn't just a way to get off for you. You like other boys.”

Will nods mutely, his bottom lip snagged between his teeth. His jaw trembles. Eleven senses he's close to tears. She wants to hug him. He's cute like a baby animal is cute. She would hug him, if she was there. Well, maybe. If she was there she might be too busy asking Mike to show her his thing again. It's like a car wreck, you can't look away.

“You don't like doing this because you want help in return, you just like touching me, don't you?” Mike's staring at Will's face and though Will is no longer looking down between his legs, he's not looking at Mike any longer. He turns his head, looking off to the side. Eleven followers his gaze. There is nothing there. The side of the fort, a wall. He'd rather stare at nothing that meet Mike's eyes.

Will's eyes shine in the dim light of the basement. He nods again.

“So you like doing that because you actually enjoy it? Not because you just want me to be happy?” Mike presses. Eleven is confused. She thinks she gets what they're talking about but everything Mike is saying is so vague. They're talking about something they've done before and she doesn't know what that is. What do boys do together besides what she's already seen?

Will is quiet for a long few seconds. His breathing is loud. “It's both, I guess.”

Mike nods again. Will reaches up to wipe at his eyes. The movement is jerky, almost violent, as if he's angry with himself for crying. He goes to slam his fist down onto his thigh but Mike is too quick and grabs him by the wrist.

“Will, it's okay,” the older boy assures him. He pulls at him, yanking him around. “Look at me! I don't hate you for wanting to touch me. It's okay.”

“But I'm a queer,” Will protests. Queer. Eleven both knows that word and doesn't. She's heard it, but she isn't sure what it means. Does it have something to do with all of this? With the bruises Mike left on Will's throat? With his thing sticking out between his thighs?

“So what?” Mike asks, but it's not a real question. It's one of those questions where the person doesn't expect an answer. “I don't care if you're gay, Will. You're my best friend. I just want to be here for you. I'll always support you.”

Will wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and inhales. The breath is shaky and strained. His throat sounds clogged.

“Maybe, maybe I should have Jonathan come pick me up,” Will hesitates. He wipes at his eyes again. The back of his hand is too wet now and he just smears the tears across his cheeks.

“Don't be stupid,” Mike suddenly shoves at Will's shoulder, nearly toppling him. He's so much taller than him. Taller than Eleven remembers him being. Will couldn't have shrunk, when did Mike get taller? Is she taller too? It hasn't been that long. “Come on, you idiot. You owe me a blowjob.”

Blowjob? Again, she's heard that word on television, but she doesn't know the meaning of it. Will's lips part and he goes to speak, but goes quiet. Eleven watches him lick his lips. They're not as red as Mike's. More of a velvety pink.

“You, you said you didn't want me to.”

“That was before I knew you just like sucking cock,” Mike replies. The words sound vaguely insulting for reasons Eleven can't quite understand but his voice is fond. Will smiles back at him and it's a real smile, a touch of humor in the corners. “It'd be cruel of me to keep you from your hobbies.”

Will's hand goes back between Mike's legs, but he's slower about it now. His fingers less insistent. He rubs the area with the palm of his hand but doesn't grab it.

“You're going soft,” he says, his voice oddly polite now. “Let me fix that.”

Of all the things Eleven had expected, Will using his mouth down there wasn't on the top of her list. She had never even imagined such a thing. Pee comes out of there on boys so you'd think it'd taste gross, like urine and sweat and dirty underwear. But Will seems fine with whatever weird tastes and smells might be down there. He hums happily with a full mouth and his fingers grip into the skinny meat of Mike's thighs as if holding him in place. As if Mike might suddenly jump up and walk away and he wouldn't be able to finish what he's doing. His thumbs leave indents in the flesh.

Will's eyes tilt up to look at Mike and Eleven can't help but envy him. She wonders how Mike looks from that angle. His eyes are closed, head just tilted back slightly. There's a bit more color than usual in his cheeks. With his angular face he might look ghoulish from that angle, or he might look stunning.

Mike rests his hand on Will's head, once more entwining his fingers in Will's hair, then he pushes him further down. The younger boy gags and coughs and Mike's eyes open. He looks back down at Will, hand still gripping his hair. He doesn't let off the pressure on his head but he doesn't push him any further. Eleven watches Will's throat bob as he swallows a couple times.

“Sorry,” Mike says softly. “Didn't mean to make you throw up.” His lips stay parted and Eleven can see his teeth. They look very white against his lips. She wishes she could kiss him.

Will hums something unintelligible. He isn't fighting Mike's grip on him. Eleven doesn't think it looks very fun, whatever he's doing. She'd rather taste Mike's lips than that part of him.

“Turn this way,” Mike says, pawing at Will's hip. “Get closer so I can jerk you off while you do it. Yeah, like that. No, just a bit to the right.”

Will's thing is still tucked away in his own sweatpants but Mike reaches in to pull him out and, well, it is different. It's smaller and darker than Mike's, less curved, and something is different about the top of it. It seems cleaner, somehow, tighter. She thinks Mike's had seemed baggier on top, like a pair of leg warmers, but it's still in Will's mouth so she can't see it to confirm. Mike's seems nicer, somehow, better, but Will's is cute. Sort of harmless looking. He also has a lot less hair than Mike. Eleven started growing hair down there several years ago, are boys slower? Will is a little younger than Mike, was Mike barely fuzzy only a few months ago too?

Mike takes Will's thing into his hand and massages it for a few seconds, then he makes a fist around it and begins to tug at it. She doesn't get the point of what he's doing but Will's hums turn into happy sounding moans so it must be something good. It seems like you should just be able to squeeze it to her, she's not sure what the point of yanking at it is. She thinks of a tube of toothpaste. Is that how it works? Is it full of the boy stuff? Can you force it out by squeezing it hard? Or do you have to pull it out. Suction it, maybe, like gas out of a tank.

“Will, wait,” Mike says, “I'm too close. Stop it.” Eleven looks down and sees Will hallowing out his cheeks. Maybe her theory is correct, he does look like he's trying to suck it out of the other boy. Mike pushes at his shoulders, shoving him off him. There's drool on Will's chin. “Come sit next to me, you can jerk me off.”

“Alright,” Will agrees. He wipes at his chin, then his nose. He sniffles. His nose is still running, Eleven wonders why. Is he getting sick?

Will sits down beside Mike, still in the blanket fort, her blanket fort, and Mike throws his left leg over Will's right. They both reach for each other. Their pants are down to their thighs and it looks difficult to move much like that. Like having a rope tied around your legs. They should just take their pants off. And their shirts. Eleven doesn't know why she wants to see them both naked all of a sudden but it's an extremely appealing idea. She's seen Mike naked but she's never seen Will naked. He's probably pretty like that.

But they don't take off any more clothes. Mike shoves Will farther back, so he's pressed against the wall, and goes back to biting at his throat. His hand moves between Will's leg in a blur. Will's hand is slower, something about it more methodical. The muscles on Mike's arm stand out, taut, the veins clearly visible beneath his skin.

“I'm close,” Will's voice comes out so high that it barely even sounds like him.

“Not yet,” Mike commands. His hand slows as well. He pushes Will again, further, onto his back. Will slips onto the floor as if he was a blanket following off the bed. Mike follows him, straddling him, and presses their groins together. The smaller boy's hands go up, gripping at Mike's shoulders, his nails digging into the cloth of his pajama top, and looks down between them. Eleven can't see from here what's going on down there, between them, but she can see Mike's shoulder and arm moving. He's supporting himself with only his left arm.

“Mike!” Will cries out, much too loud. Mike slaps his hand over Will's mouth, dropping down to his elbow, but the movement of his shoulder doesn't stop. Not for another minute or more, anyway. Then everything about Mike stills. His shoulder, his hips, his breathing. He rests his forehead against Will's and his eyes squeeze close as if pain. Will's eyes, in contrast, are wider than any human's eyes should ever be. The size of them appear more extreme with his mouth and nose covered, he's nothing but a set of giant eyes. He's staring at Mike as if he just burst into a cloud of fireflies.

“Eleven?”

There's a hand on her shoulder. She whips off the blindfold and Hopper is standing beside her, looking apologetic with a brown bag with a yellow M on it.

“Hey kiddo, sorry I'm late. I brought you some McNuggets. Are you feeling okay, your face is red?”

She doesn't know how to answer. Her entire body feels on fire. Maybe she is getting sick. She hopes she's not getting sick. She has some new ideas on what she wants Mike to show her.

**Author's Note:**

> K El, we get it. You're thirsty as shit.


End file.
